"I'm tired. I want to go to bed."
Saint looks like he's about to explode, but he takes a deep breath. "Fine," he says, getting up. "I have meetings."
He cemented my choice.
We are done.
This ends, now.
Morning comes.
Saint is already up. Already dressed.
"I have meetings all day," he tells me. "But I can cancel them if you need me to stay."
He's watching me carefully. Looking for signs I'm about to break again.
"I'll be fine," I tell him. And I sound convincing enough that he believes me.
"Okay." He hesitates at the door. "Lyla will be here if you need anything. Call me if..."
"I will."
I won't. But the lie is easier than the truth.
He leaves, and I wait until I see Emmanuel drive him away.
Then I get dressed. Black jeans. Dark sweater. Nothing that stands out.
I look at myself in the mirror.
A ghost in dark clothes.
Appropriate.
I grab my cell phone. Then I look down at my hand. The platinum band Saint slid on my finger the day we married. It feels heavy now. Wrong.
I slide it off. Set it on the dresser beside his cufflinks.
He'll understand what it means.
Or maybe he won't care.
Either way, I'm not a Marini anymore. Not really. Adrian made sure of that.
Getting out is easier than I expected. The house has several trapdoors that lead to the street, relics from when the Marinis smuggled alcohol during Prohibition. I'd discovered one weeks ago, exploring the house during one of my many sleepless afternoons, finding old blueprints in the library.
I never thought I'd actually use it to run.
I wait until Lyla is occupied in the kitchen, then slip through the passage. It opens onto a side street two blocks away.
No elaborate plan. Just walking away.
I make it to the subway entrance before I have to stop. Grip the railing. Wait for the dizziness to pass.
When was the last time I ate something that stayed down?
The platform swims when the train arrives. I make myself get on.
